The Promise That Couldn't Be Broken
by Mandelene
Summary: Little America has wet the bed again, and feels utterly humiliated. England takes it as his cue to jump in and be the hero this time. After all, even heroes need to be comforted sometimes.


**AN: I just couldn't pass up the opportunity of writing this after watching this reference in Hetalia. xD I'm sure you can relate**

* * *

Finally. Silence never seemed this beautiful.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, weary beyond belief. There were just so many things to do, and too little time to do them all in a timely manner, especially with all the distractions around.

Ah, yes, distractions. A _single _distraction was causing him _particular_ grief.

This little distraction could be identified as Alfred, more commonly known as America.

Little America wasn't so little anymore, and was proving to be more of a handful each day. England's entire week consisted of preparing food, cleaning up the house, and entertaining the most energetic four year old that he had ever encountered. Honestly, where did such a tiny boy keep these ample amounts of strength and pure defiance?

Alfred was like a parasite clinging to Arthur's ankle. He grew larger and more infectious over time. The symptoms of having this parasite were beginning to become apparent. More and more energy would be sucked from Arthur's soul, drying his spirit up from the deep roots of his body.

Honestly, he was just too bloody old for this kind of running around and babysitting.

But the boy was fast asleep for the night now, allowing Arthur to get some well deserved rest. He put on his night clothes and laid down on his comfortable bed, letting out a long string of air he hadn't known he had been holding until he had dropped his head onto his feathery pillow. Lethargy was attacking all at once, and he quickly began to doze off.

Until…

"IGGY!" cried a desperate, shrill voice.

Arthur groaned loudly into his pillow, and prayed that the boy would just go back to bed on his own.

"Igggggy!" Alfred continued to whine outside the bedroom door.

Arthur tried his best to ignore him, he really did, but he just didn't have the heart to leave the blue eyed twit out all alone in the dark abyss of the hallway. What were big brothers for, anyway?

A muffled sob had been the final nudge that Arthur had needed. He rose from his bed slowly, apologized to his aching back, and shuffled across the room. He groggily swung open the wooden door separating him from the crying child.

"What's the matter?" Arthur interrogated, getting down on one knee in order to be at eye level with the little boy.

Alfred just cried harder, his cheeks flushed with bright spots of pink. Two little hands covered the front of his pajama pants, and was that-?

Oh… _Oh._

Arthur hesitantly asked, "Did you wet the bed again, America?"

Alfred whined once more, racing to fit in an apology in between his choking sobs.

This bed wetting had been a recent development. Arthur assumed every child went through this stage at some point in their lives. Alfred would grow out of it, but each child also developed at their own pace, and he couldn't really blame the boy for something he had done involuntarily in his sleep.

"It's alright, lad," Arthur assured, rubbing Alfred's head soothingly. "No harm done. We'll just clean you right up and get you back to bed again, okay?"

Alfred hiccupped, and swiped at his cheeks furiously, embarrassed. His ears and face became marred with spots of red.

"Come, now," Arthur whispered gently, placing his hands on the little one's shoulders. He guided him toward the bathroom.

"I'll just run a warm bath-"

"No!" Alfred exclaimed, panic growing in his eyes. "I don't wanna bath."

"America, don't be silly. It's much too late for this," Arthur gave an exasperated sigh.

"But I don't like-"

"I'm tired, America. Listen to me," Arthur said firmly, losing his last ounce of patience.

His words seemed to have triggered the waterfall of tears again, and the four year old erupted with fresh tears, chest heaving with more sobs.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

'_Calm yourself. You're making matters worse,' _he urged himself.

Words weren't going to make the slightest impact in stopping the boy's crying, so Arthur simply scooped up his distressed colony and rubbed his back in large circles. When he began to quiet, Arthur tugged at Alfred's shirt and pulled it off. Alfred tried to protest, hot tears still running down his face and now splattering onto Arthur's shirt.

"I'm sorry, England," Alfred murmured quietly into the man's neck, obviously still upset.

Arthur didn't reply. Instead, he began to tickle America's belly.

Alfred couldn't suppress his smile, and soon broke into a fit of giggles.

Needless to say, Arthur was able to get Alfred hastily washed down without further incident. He took full advantage of the opportunity and decided to wash Alfred's hair while he was at it. Besides, he didn't want to get into another struggle tomorrow night.

In no time at all, Alfred found himself wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. He stood obediently as Arthur rung his hair dry with another towel.

"Thank you, Iggy." Alfred yawned and brought up a small hand to cover his mouth.

Arthur gave a tired smile. "What are brothers for? Now, you get changed into your race car pajamas while I tend to your bed, okay?"

Alfred nodded and Arthur left him alone in the bathroom, taking the soiled articles of clothing with him.

Alfred's eyes were practically slits. He sleepily picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head, and later balanced on one leg in order to get the pants on. Arthur had returned moments after Alfred had finished.

Arthur grinned at his lethargic little brother. "America, your shirt is on backwards, love."

Alfred merely let out a small, "Oh."

Arthur stepped in front of him and redressed the colony, setting his shirt on the right way.

"Thanks, Iggy."

Arthur chuckled and picked up Alfred. "Time for bed, lad."

Alfred didn't move a muscle in protest. He allowed himself to be placed back into bed and tucked in snuggly.

"Sleep tight, love." Arthur said finally, and began to make his way out of the room.

"Wait, Iggy!" Alfred called out.

Arthur sighed and forced a patient smile onto his face. "Yes?"

"Tell me a bedtime story, please?"

"Absolutely not. Not at this ungodly hour. You need to rest."

"Please?" Alfred stuck out his bottom lip ever so slightly and batted his eyelashes.

Arthur just couldn't say no to _that_. He walked back to the bedside with every intention of telling this story as quickly as possible.

"There was once a young colony named America, and he was a very rambunctious little boy. He drove his older brother, England, up the walls with his eccentric demeanor and endless game playing. One day, England decided he'd had enough and left America all alone in his dark room without a kiss goodnight because he was being a very naughty boy that wouldn't go to sleep when he was repeatedly told to do so. The end."

Alfred pouted. "That wasn't a very nice story."

"No, but non-fiction stories aren't usually nice, anyway," England shrugged.

"Iggy, I'm sorry for making you mad."

"I'm not mad. Your just quite the handful aren't you?"

Tears sprung into Alfred's eyes. "I'm sorry about what I did."

"Oh, love, you don't have to be sorry about that. Accidents can happen even to a great country," Arthur assured, stroking Alfred's hair.

"Will I ever be a great country?"

Arthur grinned, "The greatest."

"Really? Even after what happened today?"

"I promise you'll laugh one day at how silly it was for you to have worried so much about it," Arthur replied.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone about it?"

"I promise. You have my word."

"Okay, goodnight, Iggy."

"Goodnight, love," England smiled. He placed a kiss on his little brother's forehead before leaving the room.

* * *

Years Later~

England was immensely tired, and had fallen asleep at a rather important meeting. America, France, China and Russia surrounded his slumbering form, debating on ways to wake him.

"I say we just let him sleep. It's so much quieter with him sleeping…" America began, but was interjected by England's sleep-talking.

"What's wrong?" England murmured into his folded arms, his head resting on the wooden table.

"Hmm?" America turned to England with a calculating expression.

England went on obliviously. "You wet the bed again, Ame-"

America had heard enough. He balled up a fist and slammed it into the back of England's head, fury and humiliation pulsing through his veins.

France, Russia, and China looked on in confusion.

America tried to save his dignity, though his cheeks were already tomato colored. "Sleeping during a meeting? Have you no sense of decency?"

England woke from his dream. He promptly began to chase America in frustration.

America laughed and ran until they were out of earshot from the rest of the nations. He stopped abruptly, and England came crashing into him.

"Why did you feel the need to single me out in such a _delightful_ manner?" England fumed.

America shrugged. "You promised."

Then, he walked off, leaving a flabbergasted England in the distance.


End file.
